To Shore, To Shore
by pseudocitrus
Summary: The strongest god of war, and the ephemeral god of fishing. She had failed him, but the world and all its wishes would bring them together again, to meet, to exchange their names. It always had. It always would.
1. Chapter 1

Notes:

+ so yeah am I the only one shipping this? …nah it's fine it's cool

+ Noragami spoilers for chapters up to 42

+ Didn't use shinki-form names because I couldn't find them for some characters :T

+ "Chijo" — "perverted woman," the name Yato tells to Ebisu.

+ hope you like it~~

* * *

><p>She was always aware of him, but she was taken by surprise the first time they spoke. It was her second — no, maybe her third? ...yes, the third god conference — it must have been the third, because others had finally stopped challenging her title, had finally come to believe her (however grudgingly) when she told them she was the strongest god of war.<p>

As if their disbelief wasn't annoying enough, god conferences took time away from hunting for Yato. She wouldn't have bothered going at all if Kazuma hadn't pointed out the possibility of finding him there.

_As if a bug like that would ever have the power to show up here._ Still, there was a chance. So she went, and kept her eyes peeled, just in case.

When the god conference had drawn to an end, when she was heading back to resume the hunt, someone called out to her.

"Bishamonten." The voice was firm — the same voice that had droned on and on during some kind of financial meeting that she had had no interest in.

"Ebisu," she responded. She met his gaze, and they stared at each other, calculating. Eyes narrow, framed with creases. Tall, slim, but not skinny. She might have considered him a fair opponent if she hadn't witnessed him trying and failing several times to pour tea into a paper cup during a break. The pool around his shoes had grown considerably before his shinki had rushed over to assist him.

"Well?" she asked impatiently. "What is it?"

He cleared his throat. "I've heard that you've accumulated a fair amount of shinki. Is that true?"

"I certainly have much more than I could bring here," Bishamon told him. Her bristling must have been obvious because he cleared his throat again and said, quickly, "No, I — I believe you."

"Then why ask?"

He drew closer, and she kept her ground, chin lifting. "I was just wondering," he said, low, "how you did it."

"I did it," she answered, "by becoming strong."

It was the same answer she gave everyone. Ebisu's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not joking," she told him, unable to stop herself from smiling smugly at his confusion. "It's the truth."

"I see," was all he replied, and, sensing there was nothing left to their conversation, they nodded at each other, and turned, and left.

:::

She saw him again at the next god conference, though she didn't recognize him at first. She didn't even realize he was there until he crashed into her.

"Ah — p-please excuse me," a voice stuttered from the floor, and Bishamon blinked and looked down. There was a young man there, rubbing his head; he squinted up at her, and then hesitated.

"My apologies..." He trailed off, and she realized he was searching for her name.

"Bishamonten," she told him, and his eyes widened. He shoved himself to his feet, and she was surprised to see that his head barely came to her shoulders. He seemed fresher too, somehow: his eyes bigger and brighter, louder and more free.

"Bishamonten-sama?" he repeated. "Really?"

"Really," she said, eyes narrowing, and he must have sensed her bristling because he and cleared his throat, and straightened, adjusting his clothing.

"M-my apologies, Bishamonten-sama. It's just, I've heard a lot about you...and...is it true that you have a lot of shinki?"

"Yes," she said, too startled to say anything else, and he looked around as if expecting them to leap out at him at him right then and there.

"They aren't here," she told him, and he rubbed his head again.

"Ah — yes — of course. Well — thank you," he said, bowing deeply, and as he left it occurred to her that his whole form was looser, more gangly. His footsteps echoed in the hall alongside the whipping flap of his untied shoelaces. This was not the same Ebisu as before. But that could only mean...

Had Ebisu, one of the seven gods of fortune, really died? How? Fortunately, she didn't have to ask aloud: talk of it was floating all around the conference.

_"There's another one again, of Ebisu."_

_"Again?! What happened?"_

_"Who knows?"_

_"How many times has it been now?"_

_"I don't know. There have been so many, who could possibly keep track?"_

_"How fortunate! Such a powerful god, to keep on existing over and over."_

Yet not powerful enough to stop it from happening in the first place. What could possibly have the power to kill a god again and again? Was he bad at choosing shinki?

She watched him during the next meeting, but couldn't spot any hint of blight on him — just nervousness. He sat at the head of the table despite his newness, and spent the first hour clearing his throat and scratching his head. As time went on, however, his voice grew stronger, and his gestures firm, until Bishamon found herself with the definite sense that she could trust Ebisu to handle...whatever it was they were talking about.

He was a fine god indeed. During the midday break, she prowled around for Yato and, failing to find him, headed back to table where they were serving food. Ebisu was there, and he had just begun lifting a large pitcher of tea.

"Let me," she said, and grabbed the pitcher just in time to prevent Ebisu from pouring its contents all over the table. Ebisu smiled apologetically as she poured him a cup.

"Ah, thank you, Bishamon-sama..." He tried to take the pitcher back, but she switched it to her other hand, out of reach.

"It's fine," she told him, and poured her own cup herself.

She set the pitcher down and took a sip, and when she looked at him next she realized he had been staring at her. He smiled.

"You must've known from my predecessor that I don't have any sense of balance," he said.

"I might have had an idea. But," she told him, "something like that is solvable, you know, with hard work."

"I know. I've been trying to find a shinki to help me, but haven't found any suitable ones yet...a problem you probably haven't had in a while," he realized. He sipped his tea, and instantly began coughing; he wiped his hand across his chin when he spilled.

"E-excuse me — wrong pipe," he explained, blinking rapidly. "Anyway, Bishamon-sama, if you don't mind, I have been wondering. How do you —"

"I manage having so much shinki by being strong," she told him, and he shook his head, brows furrowed.

"Ah — that's not — that is, that's impressive, but not what I was going to ask."

"Oh? My apologies then. What was it?"

"How," he asked, "do you make people happy?"

He scratched his head nervously, but his voice was fast, excited. "I was just thinking, during the meeting — that maybe all this may go over the head of humans — and you know, maybe my predecessors were all..." He trailed off. "Well, I don't know what happened to them. But I'm sure I can do differently than them. Better."

His eyes were practically glowing. She couldn't help but smile at his brightness and she patted his shoulder, lightly, so as to not tip him over.

"The answer is different for everyone. Do your best."

:::

When she saw him next, it wasn't the god conference that brought them together, but human wishes, pulsing and throbbing in the air, squeezing the two of them together on the eve of war. Ships were gathered in droves along the coast; the horizon was limned with livid reds and oranges. He was much older; his eyes were narrowed against the smoke, and his fingertips were gray with ash, and he was wearing Western clothes. She directed Kuraha to land beside him, and dismounted.

"Bishamonten-san," Ebisu called. "A pleasure." He held his hand out, and she stared at it in confusion until Kazuma whispered, _Shake it._

"What?"

_Shake it. It's a greeting, a Western one._

Feeling silly, Bishamon reached for his hand, and held it, and shook. The gesture was foreign and oddly intimate. His hands were large and uncalloused, but the grip was firm. When it loosened, she took her hand back and couldn't resist bowing a bit anyway.

Something else felt wrong but she didn't figure it out until he said, "Bishamonten-san, is it true that you have many shinki?"

She sucked in a breath. She didn't speak until Kazuma prompted her to answer. Even then, she could only manage "Yes."

"How many are with you now? Out of curiosity."

She counted out their names in her head. "Fifteen," she answered, and his eyebrows lifted.

"As expected of the strongest god of war." He looked down at the pillars of smoke below them, inhaling from a pipe. His exhale was a heavy sigh.

"Tell me, Bishamonten-sama," he said. "How can we make humans happy?"

This question again? But then, looking down at the flames eating their way to the sea, the answer certainly seemed more unclear than it had ever been.

"The answer is different for everyone," she said. But she knew what she was meant for. She slipped back onto Kuraha's back, drawing Karuha and Kazuha from their holsters.

"Do your best," she called, and descended into the floating embers.

The gods of war and…fishing. Unexpectedly, she ran into him often, as neighbors might, but their activities differed so much that they never made it past introducing themselves to each other before parting again. Sometimes he was a man that looked as young as Kazuma; at others, a man not unlike the salarymen whose boardroom meetings she surveyed, with the same severe gaze and frown. She never saw him old.

One year, they converged on the same road, in front of the same house. Bishamon strode forward, heels clacking on pavement, and was surprised to see a businessman's silhouette in front of the target house, fumbling with the gate.

"Ebisu," Bishamon called out, and he jumped as she stuck his hand toward him. He straightened immediately, patting down his clothing.

"Bishamonten-san, I assume," he said, and she nodded. They shook hands.

"What brings you here?" Ebisu asked. "There isn't talk of war, is there?"

"No. Not yet," she muttered. "But I can recognize the situations that can lead to it well enough."

And — despite what Kazuma had said — she could recognize the work of certain little abhorrent gods of calamity as well. Her blood was already starting to simmer.

_Veena,_ Kazuma whispered in her ear. His diamond glinted in the streetlight. _Please — just remain calm —_

"I am calm," she muttered, but her hands shook as she opened the gate lock, and her fingers flexed on Akiha as she led the way inside. She rapped on the door, so hard it cracked a bit beside the hinge. Inside the house she heard, "Yyyyessss! Coming!"

_It's just — you don't want to scare Kofuku-san, right?_

"She has nothing to be afraid of," she said, but spoke too soon, because as soon as the door opened and they saw what was within, Ebisu roared.

_"What — are — you — DOING?!"_

Daikoku, who had opened the door, narrowed his eyes and made to close it again. "Oi, you — don't you dare speak to my kami-san that way —"

"Nonono, Daikoku, it's okay! It's okay, it's just Ebisu!"

The inside of the little house was littered with alcohol bottles, greasy crumples of money, and loose feathers. Kofuku lounged in the middle of it all with fishnets and a wide gaze, and she waved over at the door enthusiastically.

"Hiiii, Ebisu! And — ah —" She craned over and her eyes went even wider. "B-B-Bishamon?! You're here too?!"

"I can't believe you!" Ebisu shouted. "Do you have _any_ idea what you're doing to the economy, Binbougami?"

"I just wanted to ask if you've seen the Yatogami," Bishamon said, "though I suppose the economy is also an issue," and Kofuku stood, tugging her bustier into place from where it had slipped.

"Bishamon!" she said loudly. "W-wow, what an honor to see you, Bishamon — I'm just — so surprised you're here — what did you say you were doing here? Bishamon?"

"Looking for Yato," Bishamon said in confusion. Binbougami or not, this was unusual behavior. Was she drunk? "I thought I spotted him in the area so I was wondering if you've seen him. Why are you talking like that?"

_It's probably nothing,_ Kazuma said hastily, _she's — she's probably just nervous because of Ebisu —_

"Are you even listening to me?" Ebisu yelled. "Binbougami! This is getting out of control! _You must. Stop partying. This instant._"

Kofuku pouted. "But—! It's so fun. And the bubble is so pretty. Really, Ebisu, you should try partying yourself —"

"Me? _Partying?_"

"Ye-eess! Come on, it would get that stern look off your face! Though it also would be really unfortunate if you lost it," she realized, holding her cheeks with alarm, and Daikoku frowned at her, sternly.

"Maybe you should," Bishamon snorted, glancing over at him with a slight smile, and he gave her a hard look.

"Bishamonten-san — you, of all gods — I would never have expected —"

Bishamon shrugged. "You've just been looking severe, is all. There was a time before when you weren't like this."

One time — many centuries ago — many existences ago. Ebisu's eyes narrowed.

"If you're talking about a predecessor of mine," he said, "I plan to do much better than him — severe or not. And it starts with _you_" — he pointed at Kofuku, who jumped — "not putting this _whole country_ into economic destruction!"

"The whole country?" Kofuku echoed, sounding impressed.

"The _whole country_!"

"That's my kami-san," Daikoku said smugly.

"No! This is _not good_!"

There was a crash behind the house.

"What —" Bishamon started and glanced up toward it, but Kofuku hurriedly grabbed her arms and said, "Ne, Bi-sha-mon, don't you agree with me? That Ebibi is so much cuter with a stern face?"

"What was that noise?" she asked.

"Oh — oh, you know, there's so many rats that live back there — they make such a racket all the time, it's nothing to worry about."

_It definitely sounded like a rat,_ Kazuma added, and Bishamon stepped back. The sound seemed louder than anything a rat would make, but Kazuma was never wrong.

"Very well."

Kofuku sighed in relief, and Ebisu glared.

"Are you even listening to me?" he demanded. "This is a matter of utmost importance. Do you hear me, Binbougami? If you don't sober up," he said, stepping forward, "there will be — AAAUGHH!"

"Ebisu —?!"

"Ebibiii!"

He'd walked forward and stepped squarely on a sake bottle, which had rolled beneath his foot and caused him to fall backward. Bishamon watched in shock as he fell, skull slamming into and breaking through a paper screen door.

"Ebisu-sama!" His shinki immediately materialized around him, crowding around as Bishamon lifted him up off the ground.

"It's alright," Ebisu mumbled, waving them all off, but the moment he got on his feet he reeled forward, dazed, and Bishamon gripped him harder to prevent his face from hitting the tatami. She hefted him up, slinging his arm around her shoulder.

"Ebisu-sama, are you truly alright?" one of his shinki asked.

"Ebisu-sama, maybe you should lie down a little longer —"

"I'm fine," he murmured hazily. He muttered the names of his shinki and they returned to various pockets in his suit. Bishamon blinked in surprise. Well, it looked like Ebisu was well-beloved of his shinki, severe or not.

But, in the back of her mind, she had always assumed it was the blight always got him. If his shinki were fine, why did he die all the time?

"I'm fine," Ebisu repeated, trying to brush Bishamon off, but no sooner had he started to stand again than another bottle had found its way beneath his foot, and Bishamon sighed and this time caught him before he could fall back.

"Listen, Kofuku," she said. "You've had your fun. Stop."

Kofuku sighed and lied back on the tatami. She spun her arms, rustling the bills and feathers, rattling the sake bottle caps. "I was already going to stop," she admitted with a yawn. "I just wanted to see Ebibi's cute face."

"Well," Bishamon said, putting her hands on either side of Ebisu's face and thrusting it at her, "here. Satisfied?"

She eyed him carefully, leaning in and squinting, while Daikoku scowled. "Yeah," she said finally, with a yawn. "Okay."

And thus ended Japan's economic bubble. Outside, there were no more sake bottles lying around, and Bishamon trusted Ebisu enough to release him and stand beyond arms length. He straightened his tie and smoothed back his hair, but the motions were so harsh that strands still poked up, unkempt.

"I can't believe her," he grumbled. "How can I make people happy like this? How _how_ is it possible for someone to so things that cause people so much unhappiness?"

Bishamon thought, and couldn't come up with an answer. She sent a questioning thought to Kazuma, and relayed his response.

"Happiness isn't straightforward. We should know that best, of all gods," Bishamon said. "Catching many fish in a place may mean one family has wealth and another doesn't. When a battle is won, it's lost for someone else."

The next words were hers, dampened by the sobriety of Kazuma's observation. "All that's left for us is to do our best for whenever we are helping at the moment."

"That's not good enough," Ebisu snapped, and though she didn't understand it then, she would later — the fire in his narrowed eyes, the shake in his fingers as he pulled out a cigarette and jammed it into his scowling mouth.

"I can help all of them," he said, fumbling with a lighter. "I know there's a way. I can help all of them, and I will."

He flicked the lighter lid open, closed, open, closed, and still couldn't get a flame to emerge. Gently, Bishamon took it, flipped it open, and procured a flame instantly.

She held it out to the tip of his cigarette. He hesitated, and didn't lean forward until she said, "Come on."

His frown softened into a grimace as he inhaled. He sighed out smoke, and pocketed the lighter when she handed it back to him.

Maybe it was because she was a god of war, and she sensed the fight in him, and wanted, naturally, to nurture it. Maybe it was because even this newly met Ebisu felt like an old friend. Whichever it was, before she knew it, she was reaching forward and pushing her hand through his hair, smoothing the stray hairs back down.

"Do your best," she told him. He blinked at her in surprise, and then the corner of his mouth lifted in a very slight smile.

"I will. Thank you, Bishamonten-san."

:::

For some reason, at that moment, it was that smile that she thought of — that little crack in his rigid armor. It was the first time, in all of his lifetimes, that he had ever smiled at her with something resembling genuine happiness.

She held him now in her arms, his body broken and heavy and bleeding into the shining puddles around them. He was shaking and losing warmth and her sight of him blurred as tears flooded her eyes. Her heart surged with fear — and then, a desperate relief.

"Don't — don't worry," she said, summoning a smile, tightening her grip. "We'll meet again. You'll be resurrected. So — don't worry!"

She had failed him, but the world and all its wishes would bring them together again, to meet, to exchange their names. It always had. It always would.

It was a reassuring thought, and she thought then that he might smile, and agree with her. Instead, his face fractured.

"No," he sobbed. "I don't want to die!"

For an instant the glowing rain stopped falling. Her pounding heart stopped beating. And all of Ebisu stopped, too.

But unlike everything else, in the next moment, he didn't continue. He bloomed, and fell apart in her arms in a tide of glittering blood.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hello, Bishamonten-sama," she heard Ebisu say next, with a small voice. She looked down at him, only to see him bowing, so low it looked like he was about to tip over.

Knowing Ebisu, he probably would. Maybe this was why he liked handshakes so much. Bishamon knelt down and held out her hand to him, right in front of his face. He looked up at her with confusion, still bowed, until Daikokuten pushed his shoulder.

"Shake it," he instructed, and Ebisu quickly raised his hand to hers. His hand was small, uncalloused. His grip was soft until he was sure he was doing it correctly, and then it firmed.

"Hello, Ebisu," she said. "Pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you," he murmured shyly, not quite meeting her gaze. He began to drift, almost imperceptibly, back to Daikokuten's side.

Bishamon remained kneeling. There was a lot that she wanted to say — _sorry that I couldn't save you_, for one. But seeing Ebisu now, she knew that her apology was out of some misguided, subconscious assumption that his reincarnation would know what to make of her apology, and would somehow be able to absolve her. This young one couldn't. The one that could — and all the others she'd ever met — were well and truly gone.

As always. Why should this be any different?

_I don't want to die!_

Her heart ached. She bit her lip, and stood, and left. She had business to attend to. Ebisu would grow into his own — as he always had. Whenever she spotted him around her premises, she could see him coming into his usual inheritance: wrinkled brows, serious gaze, more-than-occasional _thumps_ as he stumbled clumsily into walls and furniture. It was pretty cute.

Though, there were a couple new things too about this Ebisu, which weren't quite as endearing.

"Chijo-sama!" he called one day, and Bishamon clenched her teeth.

"How many times have I told you not to call me that?!"

He jumped and almost crashed into a nearby shelf. "I-I'm sorry, Ch — Bishamonten-sama! P-please forgive me."

His face was filled with fear.

_I don't want to die!_

She frowned and turned back to her desk.

"Nevermind that. What is it?"

She could hear him shuffling his weight from foot to foot.

"Go on," Bishamon told him, and finally he burst out, "Eighty-seven."

"What?"

"Eighty-seven. I've been trying to count them. And...do you have eighty-seven shinki?"

She suddenly found herself no longer able to say anything. She rubbed her chest. "No," she managed, weakly, and Ebisu snorted in frustration.

"I'll count them again," he announced, and ran off.

"Careful!" she called after him. "Just walk, don't —"

But it was too late — there was a loud _smack_ from around the corner, of a little body tripping on untied shoelaces and falling flat on its face. She cringed and rushed off to pick him up off the ground.

"Honestly, Ebisu," she growled, checking his elbows and knees for scrapes. "Even for a child this is ridiculous."

He didn't have the awareness to even look ashamed. His eyes weren't tearful — just sober, piercing. "Chijo-sama," he said, "did you know my predecessor?"

_I don't want to die!_

"I knew him," she said, forcing a smile. She had known many of them, if only briefly — maybe this last one the most briefly of all. But he was the one the one that stayed, the one that she saw splattered on her arms in fleeting nightmares, the one whose voice she heard between the howls and hisses of rainy days.

After a while of wrestling with her own panic whenever she wasn't sure where Ebisu was, she had Kazuma arrange for some of her own shinki to watch over him, and for a while that was enough. She couldn't spend too much time worrying — they both had their duties.

As one of the seven gods of fortune, Ebisu's responsibilities in particular were immense, and he was growing fast to accommodate them. Soon he had accumulated his own retinue of shinki and no longer needed Bishamon's to watch over him, but she asked Kazuma for occasional reports anyway, and sometimes found herself idly following tales of his ventures: this or that starving fishing village saved by full nets, some fisherman or other rescued at sea, even a particularly exciting haul of goldfish for a child at a summer festival.

_He's doing good things,_ she would tell herself. _He's making people happy. He's a fine god._

Despite what she had allowed to happen to him.

She ran into him often, as neighbors would. Whenever she saw him, there were no introductions exchanged — just the requisite greetings.

"Hello, Ch — Bishamonten-sama." A deep, precocious bow."

Eventually it became, "Hello, Bishamon-sama." A shorter bow, a nod, before they strode off in their opposite directions.

Finally, it was just, "Bishamon-san," with a small and easy smile that she was sure she had never seen on any predecessor, because something about it made her smile back almost involuntarily.

"Hello, Ebisu."

"I was just looking for you," he said, and handed her a small bag. She took it and looked inside.

"...sushi?" The bag crackled as she lifted up the plastic tray. "From...a convenience store?"

"A child's idea of a good tribute. It makes sense, doesn't it?" He lifted up another bag. "I also have a few rice balls. Would you like to have lunch?"

"I would," Bishamon realized, and they found some rare private space on her room's balcony, and unraveled the bags.

Ebisu's appearance was nearing that of his predecessor now, and when she saw him, it was easy to forget about what had happened before — easy to imagine, too, that it had never happened at all. She might have been able to forget entirely if it weren't for this Ebisu being so different from the others: so loose, so calm. It didn't mean he was talkative, though, and they ate peacefully, in silence broken only by the splash of soysauce on the tray lids as they dipped their fish.

There was something different about it, something oddly comfortable compared to the dinners she had with her shinki, and for a moment she thought it was the sparseness of the company — there was only one of him, after all, as opposed to dozens of shinki sharing a table.

But there was something else too — an ease in the air. As Ebisu ate, she realized that he wasn't watching her with the usual cautious eye that everyone around usually did — either to anticipate her wants or needs, or to defend against some attack by The Strongest God of War. Eating like this, they were just like the businessmen she saw eating together on their lunch breaks. No humans to serve or save — no shinki to soothe or utilize. She didn't even need to explain the intricacies of her every day existence, the peculiar exhaustion that came with granting wishes and listening to prayers. They were on equal ground.

Had the strongest god of war ever felt equal to anyone?

She had never been especially partial to Japanese food, but somehow this particular convenience store sushi tasted delicious.

:::

Ebisu showed up with a other convenience store bag the next Wednesday, and the Wednesday after that, and the Wednesday after that. They broke their chopsticks on her balcony, in her courtyard, at Suzuha's park, on a pier along the coast.

"What is it?" Ebisu asked, seeing her smile out toward the water, and she shook her head.

"It's nothing."

He tilted his head at her. "You say that so often."

"Very well. I was just thinking — that each time we do this, we're like a couple of businessmen on a break."

He smiled at her. How was it that no other Ebisu had ever smiled like him? "I've thought that too."

"You have?"

"Well, what I actually thought was that we were like two fishers."

She leaned back on her chair, tucked her hair behind her ear. She had brought a shinki that was a long-brimmed hat, and adjusted him against the wind.

"A fisher? Me? I suppose I do have a shinki that takes the form of a harpoon..."

"I don't mean it literally. You don't think that I could actually be a businessman, do you?"

He was wearing dark slacks and a light dress shirt — the same clothing any corporate employee would wear, the same clothing his incarnations had always worn. This Ebisu, however, had never taken control of the meetings at the god conference, had never tripped his way into Kofuku's house to save the economy.

"Why would we be like fishers?" she asked.

He swished the ice around his drink, leaned forward with interest. "Is it possible that the Ebisu before me was something of a businessman?"

She didn't want to talk about this. She adjusted her hat again. "Why do you want to know?"

"To do better than him, of course." The ice clinked, clinked. "Yato-san said that my predecessor was a fine god. And yet, for him to have met his end after so little time —"

"That he did was not his fault," Bishamon snapped, and Ebisu started.

"Alright, alright. Don't leave," he said hastily, just as her chair scooted back. She stood.

"I wasn't going to leave," she lied. She looked toward the water again. "Let's walk."

They collected their trash and disposed of it, purchased shaved ice, strolled down the pier. Bishamon used her spoon to take bites of sugared ice and to swat at phantoms buzzing by the heads of passersby. They listened to the humans talk weather, and jobs, and money, and tried out the topics they overheard.

"How's" — her eye gleamed — _"work?"_

"It's — ah — fine. There have been a lot of phantoms recently, shoals of them, off the coast. Shortages of fish are affecting the fishers." He tried to take a bite from the shaved ice and his spoon slipped from his fingers and dropped between the slats of the pier. Bishamon handed him hers.

"Th...thank you." He cleared his throat, examining it, and then spooned up a healthy amount of ice and red beans.

"And you, Bishamon?" he asked. "No wars to handle, are there?"

She shrugged. "There are always wars. The war of a child against his bullies. The war of a woman against her sorrows." She stretched her arms over her head. "There's always work to do."

They reached the end of the pier.

"It sounds difficult."

"It is," she agreed. "But it's mine."

And more than that it was what she existed for, what she was. Ebisu regarded her.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing." A small smile spread slowly across his face. "Do your best, Bishamon-san."

It was the first time he had ever said it to her in all of his lives. "Th-thank you," she said, feeling her face warm, and she shook her head, brushing back her hair.

"What was it that you were saying, earlier — about fishers?"

"Ah." He set his hands on the wooden railing, leaned back and forth. "Just…that fishers…go out, far away, to do their work. They have their duties, after all. But all — sort of — that is, they all long to come home, to shore. To rest. So…so. It's just nice…to…"

He struggled, as if wresting the stubborn words from the bottom of his throat.

"…to rest with you," he finished.

That was what he said. The words he cast fell and rippled and left the air strangely thick in her lungs. Accidentally, maybe, his hand brushed hers, and he was so startled that he dropped the spoon again, and before she could stop herself a laugh burst out of her.

"It is nice," she agreed, "to rest with you," and the atmosphere softened again.

:::

It certainly was nice, for once, to have breaks in her duties. The next week they visited a garden and ate sandwiches among the peonies.

"Thank you for the meal," Bishamon said, once she had pinched up every last crumb, and he gathered the paper wrappings with a nod.

"Of course, Bishamon-san. Consider it my thanks...and apology. Since I've been intruding on your household for some time now."

"There's no need for an apology," she said, waving her hand. "It's the least I owe you."

"Owe me?" he asked, and she frowned. She'd slipped.

"Owe me for what, Bishamon-san?"

She searched her brain frantically for the right words. Where was Kazuma when she needed him? No, that was unfair — she couldn't expect him to drag her out of every situation she got into, blessed or not. She gazed into the horizon.

"It's nothing," she managed, making her voice stony, unquestionable. Ebisu studied her.

"I don't believe you owe me anything," he said.

"That's why I said it's nothing. Thank you for lunch," she told him sharply. His lips pursed and his brow wrinkled but he didn't say anything more.

They were silent the whole way hone, but her mind roiled. Maybe she should just tell him. But how could she even approach it? _Ebisu, your predecessor died, because of me. I'm sorry._

What good would it do? At home, she sat down on her bed, then sighed again and fell into her back, arms spread.

Perhaps it was best just to forget about it. Ebisu was fine. Seemed happy, even, happier than he'd ever been. She closed her eyes. His slight smile as he handed her food. The messy way he went about eating, wiping away smears on his cheek.

_I don't want to die!_

There was nothing she could do about what had happened. But as far as she was concerned, Ebisu was of her flock — another one of the precious existences that she shared her own with. And, just as with all her shinki, she would protect him from ever dying again.

:::

It should have been an easy promise for the strongest god of war to keep. And then, one day, Ebisu was rushed back into her house, staggering and bleeding.

"He's _what_?" Bishamon shouted, and Kazuma jumped and stammered, "h-he —"

But she was out before he even finished. She raced across the hallway, following the gazes of her shinki whispering in the hallway, knowing she was getting closer when they crowded more densely. They were thickest near Ebisu's room, but made way for her as soon as she approached. Ebisu's own shinki were gathered there in their entirety, some attending to his wounds, and some — she reeled — cleaning blood from the floor.

"Ah! Hello, Bishamon-san," Ebisu said, blinking. "What a surprise."

"_I'm_ the surprise? What happened to _you_?" she demanded, and one of his shinki bristled.

"Don't speak to Ebisu-sama that way," the shinki growled, stepping between them, and one of Bishamon's own shinki shouted back, "Don't _you_ speak to Ane-sama that way!"

Her shinki was harsh and full of acid. He was only recently named, and some of the other shinki covered their mouths at his outright show of anger. Bishamon pursed her lips, rubbed her neck as she felt it begin to prickle with blight. "It's fine," she said, to all the shinki around her. "Please, give Ebisu some room to breathe."

"Yes, Ane-sama."

"Of course, Ane-sama."

They retreated, Kazuma already taking the new shinki aside to speak privately. Bishamon stayed, eyes narrow.

"What happened?" she asked again, and Ebisu cleared his throat.

"Bishamon-san, it's really nothing..."

"Ebisu-sama, please stop moving," said the shinki bandaging up his head, and Ebisu fell back on the bed. He flinched as his shinki applied ointment to a fresh wound on his brow.

"Bishamonten-sama," said the attending shinki, "perhaps it would be best if you come back la —"

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what happened," Bishamon said, and to her surprise all the shinki exchanged grimaces. It was clear they weren't going to admit anything, and finally Ebisu shrugged.

"Well," he sighed, "I tripped."

"You...what?"

"I — ah — tripped. In...in front of a phantom."

"Where were you to defend him?" Bishamon demanded, looking around at his shinki, and they frowned even more deeply.

"They were there," Ebisu said quickly. "Actually, they — might have been what I tripped on."

"They…_what?"_

"I'm a whip," one of the shinki muttered, arms crossed.

"A net," another admitted.

"A fishing pole."

"Did he trip on _all_ of you?" Bishamon said in shock.

"No!" Ebisu protested. "Well, not — not _entirely_…all...at once…"

Her head spun. She felt dizzy with fury and had to sit down, but the moment she did — the moment her hands rested in her lap, arms bent — she felt the ice of rain on her forehead, the heat of blood on her arms. She stood again, hastily, as if the chair had been aflame. The visions quelled; the pounding of her heart did not.

"This has gone on long enough," she said, voice shaking. Much too long. It might have been fine for his predecessors, but this clumsiness would end _now_. "The moment you are well, come see me for training."

"T-training? For what, Bishamon-san?"

"Training to keep your balance whenever one foot leaves the ground!" she snapped.

Ebisu swallowed. "U-understood, Bishamon-san."

Around him, his shinki sighed with relief.

:::

Clumsy or not, Ebisu was a powerful god, and it didn't take long for him to recover. When he came to meet her, she led him out to a bare space in a neighboring field that some of her shinki had cleared for their own use as a training area.

Shinki — both hers and Ebisu's — were collected nearby and on the house balcony railings, watching. She tilted her head to them. Ebisu gave a feeble wave, and then swallowed as he took a stance.

"Well," he said, looking ill, "take it easy on me, please," and she almost laughed.

"Do you think I'm just going to attack you?"

His look of confusion confirmed it.

"No," she laughed. "I'm a god of war, Ebisu. I prefer a _little_ bit of a fight."

By the mingled laughter and chatter of shinki around them, it was clear that a fight was what everyone else had been expecting as well. Ebisu was looking away in embarrassment and to Bishamon's surprise she saw a flush crawling up the collar of his white shirt.

The first time she'd seen him blush. Bishamon stared, then quickly looked away, clearing her throat.

"Quiet down over there!" Bishamon shouted to the shinki collected around them. "Find something to do or be silent. We need to concentrate."

There was some laughter and grumbling, but the shinki obediently quieted or dispersed. Bishamon waited for Ebisu to look back at her; but when he continued to look steadfastly away, she put her hand on his shoulder to get his attention back. He jumped and turned.

"Ignore them," she told him.

"I'd feel better if they were gone," he admitted, and she squeezed his shoulder.

"We could make them leave," she said, "but you have no reason to be ashamed of yourself. You're a fine god, Ebisu. You'll be alright."

He swallowed. "R…really?"

"Aren't I the strongest god of war? Trust me a little." She smiled and released him with a firm pat. "Besides, it will soothe your shinki to see their master taking a couple steps without help."

"Ha." He smiled, crookedly, and nodded. He was attentive when she led him on through some preliminary stretches and motions, and seemed surprised when that was all that was planned for the day.

"That's all? I thought…we'd be…"

"Isn't this enough?" She gestured at his button-down shirt, which clung to his body with sweat. "Soon," she assured him. "Get these down first."

She didn't want to overwhelm him. But despite his history of clumsiness, he turned out that to be a quick study. His forms were accurate, if imprecise; his movements had flow, though lacked grace. More than anything else, however, he had an unflagging persistence. By the time she arrived at her sessions he was often already there, halfway through his warm-ups; and he stayed long after she had to leave. She often glanced out her balcony window to find him practicing in the empty fie ld, no longer conscious of shinki onlookers, though most if not all of the shinki had by this most lost interest in observing.

One day, Kazuma saw her glance out.

"He's not there," he said, and Bishamon blinked at him, abruptly flustered.

"What?" she asked, pretending she didn't know what he meant.

But this was Kazuma — he knew her. He repeated himself, looking down as he tapped a stack of papers on a desk to even them out. "He's not there. Ebisu-sama fought a phantom on the coast today."

"Is he alright?" Bishamon asked in alarm. "Is he in the medical wing?"

"Oh, no. It was a huge success. I believe he and his shinki went out to go drinking."

"A success," Bishamon echoed. She continued looking out to the courtyard then smiled. "Well, that's fortunate. It seems he's been learning after all."

"He has," Kazuma said. He opened his mouth to say something else — then closed it and started to leave.

"Kazuma," Bishamon called out.

"It's nothing," he said. But she knew him — she set her hands on her waist and he sighed and turned back toward her.

"Some of us overheard his shinki talking. Now that Ebisu-sama can utilize them effectively, they think they should try and find their own place to live."

Bishamon stared. "Their...own place?"

"It makes sense," Kazuma said not meeting her gaze. He straightened the papers again. _Tap, tap._ "They've been here for a while, after all. And it's not the most convenient area for a god of fishing."

"Just because he fought _one phantom_ without tripping all over himself doesn't mean he's ready to leave," Bishamon said, acidly, and Kazuma looked up at her. His expression was strange. Sad?

"Ebisu-sama isn't your shinki, Veena," he told her. "He's not — he's not your _family_. He's a god. Clumsy or not, he can take care of himself, or find his own shinki to do it. Besides that, he has a lot of humans relying on him."

"Right, humans. How could I forget about the happiness of humans?" she muttered. Kazuma stared, looking as appalled as if he'd been blighted.

Well, he wasn't privy to the wishes of bloodthirsty humans with nothing but the desire for dominance and annihilation. He didn't balance the wishes of those who wanted or needed power. Warfare and struggle was one thing; destruction and calamity, another. But both had started to feel uncomfortably close, ever since that day with the glittering rain and glittering blood.

"Do you need to talk, Veena?" Kazuma asked.

She considered.

"No," she realized. There were only so many things he could advise her on, only so many things a shinki could provide comfort for. She smiled at him, as well as she could. "Do you need to talk, Kazuma?"

He smiled back at her. He had stayed so long with her that his expression was a perfect replica of her own. _I'm not 100% right now, but I can handle it._

"No," he said. "Let me know if you need me. I'll see you later."

"See you." Once he was gone, she sat back, and stared out into the empty field.

:::

"Ready?" Bishamon asked.

"Ready," he said, solemn and certainly not half as apprehensive as he had been during their first dozen sessions. She charged at him, fist flailing with purposeful clumsiness, and to her surprise he caught her easily and bent her arm back, just as she had taught her. Perfect on the third try.

He held her back to him arms locked, and whispered in her ear. His breath was warm, his voice feather-soft.

She realized he had repeated himself a couple times already.

"Bishamon-san? Is this enough?" He twisted her arm a little more, hesitantly, and she broke free from him, clearing her throat.

"Y-yes," she told him, "that's fine."

"Did I do it?" he asked, with rare eagerness, and she laughed.

"You did. Good work. Now you just need to be ready even when your opponent _isn't_ announcing their intentions," she said, and without further ado lunged for him again and —

— promptly found herself on the ground.

She looked up, dazed. Above her, Ebisu leaned over, his image wavering back and forth in a blur.

"B-B-Bishamon-san?! I'm sorry, I didn't — you just —"

For one instant, her temper got the better of her. She reached up and with a swift motion yanked him down and in an instant their positions were reversed: he on the ground, on his back, and she above him.

She laughed as he looked up at her in shock.

"Th-that was hardly fair," he said, but despite his incredulity Bishamon could see a smile tugging at his mouth.

"It's perfectly fair! You must be ready at _all! Times!"_ she declared, poking her finger into his chest to emphasize each word.

He swatted at her hand, and caught it. By the way his eyes widened, it was clear he hadn't actually expected to do it. He loosened his grip to release her, and she tightened her fingers to keep him. Their hands shifted and fell into place against each other. Palms flat. So unlike the handshakes she had shared with him over the ages. He was sprawled below her and —

_The brittle peck of icy rain on her face drumming on the metal of her armor his wide eyes brimming with anguish as bright and beating as blood I don't want to die —_

She cringed away from him, practically throwing his hand away from her. Ebisu sat up, staring.

"Bishamon-san?"

"Let's continue tomorrow," she said standing. She brushed down her clothing and started to walk off — and stopped, and looked down.

Ebisu had grabbed her hand again.

She turned to glare at him. His mouth firmed. His gaze was nowhere near the severity that previous incarnations had ever had before, but it was close.

"Don't leave," he said.

_How dare you?_ The words were on the tip of her tongue. _You can't stop me. Who do you think you are?_

But he wasn't one of her shinki.

"Please," he added. "What happened? What's the matter?"

"It's nothing. It's none of your concern."

"Is it," he asked, "about what happened with the one that came before me?"

Now she turned to him fully. Her throat was knotted.

"Kazuma?" she asked, voice quiet.

He shook his head, smiling faintly. "No, he didn't tell me anything. It's obvious, to me."

_"What's_ obvious?"

"That something's troubling you. And that it has to do with me. You act a certain way, whenever my predecessor is mentioned."

His hand was still holding hers. Her hand was still holding his. She tugged it back, and free; and his arm dropped to his side.

"I just want you to know that I apologize for whatever he did," he told her, his gaze wavering on hers. "And to tell you that I won't be troubling you anymore. I'll be leaving tomorrow, with my shinki."

She had suffered all sorts of wounds in battle, but none had ever twisted like this one, reverberated in the sudden hollow of her chest. Kazuma had warned her, but something had been punctured and she had no air to say anything.

_He's a god,_ she thought furiously, _he can take care of himself._

Just like all the other lives he had taken care of himself? Just like all the other times she had greeted him, and then said farewell, forever?

Ebisu shifted his weight from foot to foot, and then, with a swallow, started to leave.

He obtained all of five steps before he stopped, and spun around — arm up, just in time to block a descending blow. He gasped, bent a bit against the pressure, but Bishamon didn't let up; her next hit was aimed at his side, at his leg, at his head. Ebisu stumbled back and back again with every hit, but evaded each successfully — twisting, jumping, ducking. After the last, however, he lost his balance, and fell back with a yell — only to have Bishamon snatch his flailing arm and hold him up an inch over the ground.

His hair was disheveled, lying across his face and flapping up raggedly with his hard breaths. After a moment, Bishamon pulled him to his feet. He stared, shaking.

"Wh...wh..."

"So," she snorted, "you want to leave, even though you can barely defend yourself? You fought one little phantom out of its puddle somewhere and now you're good to go?"

"Yes," he huffed, to her surprise. He shoved his hand through his hair, trying to push it back into place, ineffectually. It stuck out in edges and ruined the effect when he repeated, "Yes. I am."

Her vision blurred, reddened at the corners. "You have no idea what sorts of trouble you've gotten into! You don't understand — that the reason you died before, was because of me, because I couldn't save you! And it can't happen again," she cried. "I will _not_ let it happen again!"

_"Not me!"_ he shouted, stunning her.

He seemed stunned himself, but recovered, rushing into his next words with clumsy abandon. "Not me. It wasn't me, Bishamon. And — and truthfully, if it meant that I could meet you — I'm glad, that my predecessor left, especially if all he left you with were such horrible memories. I can do better than him, than any of them." His voice just as fierce and determined as it had ever been. "So — so please tell me, Bishamon — how can I make you happy?"

Maybe it was because she was a god of war, and she sensed the fight in him, and wanted, naturally, to nurture it. Maybe it was because this Ebisu, out of all of them, out of everyone, was her closest friend. Whichever it was, before she knew it, she was reaching forward and pushing her hand through his hair, smoothing the stray hairs back down. Her other hand rose and thatched fingers with the one behind his neck. And then, she kissed him — soft at first, and then strong, her lips corner-to-corner with his. She breathed in his startled gasp, felt his hands rise and grip her sides, didn't let up even when his back fell heavily to the dust. She kissed him and she felt him rise against her, warm and hungry and perfect, as easy as if he had known her for eternities.

"Start," she murmured, "by staying."


End file.
